


Tumblr fics

by amurderof



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Rope Bondage, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3758929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurderof/pseuds/amurderof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of the Bull/Dorian fic unrelated to anything else that I post to tumblr, collected here for easy reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so [livingreasy](http://livingreasy.tumblr.com) sent me an ask a while ago about dorian looking good in rope and then i fell into a huge pit of imagining whatever the qunari equivalent of shibari / kinbaku would be and frankly it’s been a beautiful disaster in my head since then. suffer with me i guess???

Firm hands, warm and calloused, move over Dorian’s back and he stretches into the touch, or makes the attempt. Moving too far in any direction is impossible, as though he’s encased in new leather that has yet to be worked in – but his skin is bare to the chill air slipping past the window panes, to the bursts of hot air spilling from Bull’s mouth, to the sparking touch of Bull’s fingers. Bull had said something about that, about how exposed he would be. He doesn’t feel exposed. He feels as though Bull has a hold on him across the entirety of his body, as though Bull’s hands can stretch that far in one go, looping around his thighs, his calves, his back and chest and shoulders and arse, all at once.

“Look at you,” Bull whispers. Dorian shudders, the quaking starting at the back of his neck and flooding down his back and arms. Bull slides his fingers under the rope at the small of Dorian’s back and Dorian presses his face against the sheets, breathing out hot in the space between his mouth and the mattress. He can hear Bull chuckling, as though from a great distance. “Feel good?”

Dorian doesn’t trust himself to speak. He knows there’s… noise, that with each slow exhale he lets out a low whine. He can’t help it, and with how he can feel Bull’s hand pause each time, he doubts he would if he could. But Bull will worry if Dorian stays silent, so Dorian uncurls one of his fists, flexing his fingers wide. Bull’s fingers slide against Dorian’s palm soon enough, and Dorian squeezes twice in quick succession. _I’m good._

Bull huffs a laugh, and Dorian bites down on his bottom lip when Bull leans over his arched back and rubs his stubbled chin against the unbound stretch of skin between Dorian’s shoulder blades. “You  _look_ good,” Bull says, and he moves both of his hands to Dorian’s hips. The ropes twisted around Dorian’s thighs and up and back around his arse are as firm as Bull’s grip, and when Bull works his tongue down Dorian’s back, stopping to drag his teeth across the dip above one of his arsecheeks, Dorian wordlessly mouths curses.

Bull hums against his skin, his breath suddenly cool – Dorian’s thighs start shaking, as though he’s held himself up for hours, as they do after he’s sat astride Bull for too-long, bloody athletic sex. “Y’know, when I get good enough at this, I could actually hang you from the rafters, trussed up like a ham. How would that feel?” Bull sounds almost professorial, and Dorian manages to mumble  _fuck_ into the sheets.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [stars-collected](http://stars-collected.tumblr.com) posted [this](http://stars-collected.tumblr.com/post/116570821700/dorians-a-sweet-guy-hes-gentle-and-he-cares) in the midst of our massive feelings about Bull's entire life and I proceeded to have EVEN MORE feelings and wrote a thing.

You hang around people who talk in at least three levels of innuendo or social graces falling out of their asses enough, you get good at paying attention to subtle shit, to the meaning behind every movement. At least Bull comes by the skill honestly – thinks about his tama sometimes, how much potential she saw in him, how much of a brat he must’ve been as a kid… You get good at staying quiet too, letting your target fill in the spaces once they get uncomfortable; or once they think you’re too stupid to understand them. It’s a lot of wait and see, and Bull’s developed his patience for decades.

Dorian Pavus is definitely a wait-and-see kind of situation. Bull primes the pump, and then he takes a step back and lets Dorian figure it out from there. When Dorian shows up to the tavern and they get drunk over an absolutely fucked game of Wicked Grace that Skinner wins handily, Bull leaves Dorian an opening and Dorian takes it. The sex is good, because as long as everybody’s enjoying themselves Bull doesn’t really believe in bad sex, and they both sure as anything enjoy it. Dorian seems spooked by the idea of getting fucked so Bull doesn’t press it, even though he’d thought that’d be at the top of Dorian’s list; but he sucks Dorian off and lets him come on his face, and Dorian looks disappointed for a moment when he realizes Bull got himself off with his hand when Dorian’s eyes had slipped shut and his mouth had fallen open in a high-pitched gasp.

Bull gets up off of his knees – and he should remember that kneeling on stone for too long’s never a great idea, should always do this on the bed, he’s gonna be feeling that tomorrow – and cleans himself off, folding the soiled rag and hanging it over the edge of the washbasin. Dorian’s still sprawled out horizontally across the bed, and Bull expects he’ll be skedaddling in a couple minutes, everybody’s fantasy satiated. Bull sits down next to him, hip to hip, and shakes out his bum knee, like that’ll help. He knows it never does. He’ll need to find Stitches tomorrow, harass him for something to dull the ache.

Dorian rouses next to him, pushing himself up on his elbows, and Bull shoots him a leer that has Dorian chuckling. The guy’s always good-looking, but his face is frigging incandescent when he smiles all genuine. Maybe enough time away from that shithole of a homeland will get him more comfortable with it. The only way he’s got to go is up, anyway.

“C'mere,” Dorian says, and Bull arches an eyebrow at him, glancing down at Dorian’s and then his own spent cock. “Ugh, such a one-track mind.” Dorian lifts his hips enough to tug his tight things up, tying them however the fuck he does, and sits up enough to drop a hand to Bull’s bum knee. “How you’ve survived this long, I simply don’t know,” Dorian snipes, and Bull barely keeps himself from jerking away when Dorian’s hand goes from pleasantly cool to hot, even through Bull’s trousers.

Bull looks between Dorian’s hand and Dorian’s expression, concentration writ clear across his absurdly pretty glistening face. “You normally drunkenly cast spells on your lays?”

“Don’t be crude, you’re of no use to the Inquisition lame,” Dorian responds promptly, but there’s a blush streaking his cheeks now, and his touch is gentle, soothing, and Bull starts to carefully rethink his opinion of the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://amurderof.tumblr.com) Let's cry about the Iron Bull together, what a good.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted me with the following: "dorian/bull, bull realising someone at skyhold has a crush on dorian and finds it entertaining that they think they have a chance."
> 
> I tagged this with "douchebags in love" when I posted it bc for real.

It’ll come as no surprise to anybody who’s ever met him that Dorian likes gifts, likes to be pampered, likes to be shown he’s special. A cream puff from Agnes in the kitchen puts a small smile on his face that lasts far after he’s wiped the filling from his lips. Josephine finds him a book he didn’t request specifically but hinted around and even that makes him pleased as fucking punch. It’s adorable, really – and it’s even better right now, Bull’s having a hard time keeping his amusement to himself –  because Dorian’s opened up a nondescript box delivered to him via messenger to uncover three delicate-looking chocolates, of all things, and he’s fishmouthing down at them.

“You don’t suppose they’re poisoned,” he says after a while, and Bull swallows a snort of laughter.

“Want me to try one for you? Find out?”

“ _No_ ,” Dorian snaps, and pulls the box closer to his chest as though Bull could grab them from him from where he’s sitting, on the bed across the room.

“Then guess you’ll just have to hope,” Bull says.

Dorian glares half-heartedly at him, his attention clearly wrapped up in the present, and when he deigns to lift one to his mouth and take a dainty little taste, he bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes. “Sweet Maker.”

For half a second Bull thinks he might be jealous of the chocolate, fuck.

The presents pick up after that.

 

..

 

There’s a long peacock blue silk scarf, coiled around itself in another nondescript box, that Dorian caresses lovingly and holds up to his skin like he’s gonna start nuzzling it. The color looks good on him – Bull doesn’t have an eye for fashion but he can still see that. The color’s even better on him when he passes the scarf to Bull with a smug smile, and Bull ties him to the headboard with it.

 

..

 

Then there’s the glass jar of curry powder which Bull lifts from Dorian as soon as he unwraps it – because there’s no way Bull’s letting Dorian try and cook with it, or pass it over to the cooks, bless ‘em. Dorian nearly cries when he takes a bite of lamb spiced just right, because Bull’s damn good at what he does. Sera  _does_  cry, and then tells the both of 'em she should’ve  _known_  it’d fucking hurt, if they were both so excited about it.

 

..

 

Bull figures it out in short order. The messengers are easy to charm into telling him who’s sending 'em, even if they try and obfuscate it, and it all leads Bull to one of the visiting dignitaries, an Orlesian count who’s easy on the eyes as far as Bull can tell with the whole mask thing, but who’s also pretty sad. Bull doesn’t even approach him, just stands in the hall when the count walks by one afternoon, and the man  _startles_ , presses a hand to his chest and clears his throat before taking off again at a faster clip. Josephine glares at Bull from over her shoulder as she accompanies him to the war table, and Bull gives a shit-eating grin that he  _knows_  has her laughing on the inside.

Dorian keeps getting gifts, and they get grander, more expensive. “I think someone’s trying to steal me out from under your nose,” he tells Bull one night while they sit in bed, carefully handling the pages of some old book in ancient Tevene. The sound he’d made when he’d unwrapped _this_  gift was pretty damn close to the ones he made when Bull had him on the brink of orgasm, and every turn of the page made him breathe funny.

“If all I’d had to do was buy you fancy gifts to get in your pants,” Bull starts, and Dorian elbows him. “I’m just saying…”

“I’m sure you even know who it is. It’s cruel of me to lead them on like this…” Dorian gets distracted by one of the passages, and disappears into the book for the next half an hour. Bull spreads out on the bed, looping an arm around Dorian’s back, settling his hand on Dorian’s hip, and drifts off to Dorian muttering in ancient bullshit under his breath.

 

..

 

“Messere Pavus?”

Ah fuck, it’s happening. Bull sits up straight on the bench in the tavern and leans forward as much as he can to hear over the din. Krem notices too – and he’s not been privy to the details of Dorian’s secret admirer, but he’s cottoned on to enough of it to risk Skinner’s wrath by elbowing her in the side to get her to quiet, so they can all hear.

Dorian turns to the Orlesian count – shit, Bull doesn’t even remember his name – with their refills in both hands, and blinks repeatedly at him as though he’s trying to place his face. “Yes…?”

“I’ve thought of you often in these last weeks while I visited this fair castle. You’ve enjoyed my gifts, I hope?”

Dorian’s eyes widen for a second and then he smiles, raising one of the tankards to the man. “They were  _quite_  lovely. And inspired! Truly, you are a man among men and I am grateful to have been the object of such affections.”

Krem’s making too much noise laughing, the vint bastard, and Bull smacks him on the shoulder.

“Then would you be amicable to accompanying me–”

“Oh,  _no_. Maker no. Have a wonderful evening.” Dorian turns away from the gobsmacked count and slides next to Bull on the bench, nearly into his lap, the little fucker, and Dalish jerks awake from where she’s slumped next to Skinner when Bull laughs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by [officialbizness](http://officialbizness.tumblr.com) on tumblr: "Inappropriate puppet show."
> 
> Bless your face, Biz. Bless you.

“Oh my beloved, what a fine expanse of Tevinter territory we’ve been granted to labor over.”

Dorian groans and reaches back as far as he can, the angle awkward, but he still manages to smack Bull in the arm with his waving hand. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Bull ignores him, and Dorian lets out a long sigh and resettles his head on both of his arms. Bull’s doing  _something_  on his arse, his hands moving about as though he’s tapping a drum… So, nothing absurdly outside of his usual behavior.

Bull modifies his voice when he speaks next, a dainty falsetto he usually only trots out when he’s impersonating Dalish. “You’re right, my darling – what a fertile land we have come upon this evening.”

Dorian presses himself up onto his elbows and looks over his shoulder. “What in the  _world_  are you doin–”

Bull pauses, and Dorian takes in his stockings on each of Bull’s hands – stretched to oblivion and beyond, he’ll never be able to wear them again, Bull’s nails starting to poke through the stitching.

Bull grins sheepishly at Dorian and opens and closes one of his hands in a motion that Dorian supposes resembles a mouth: “He’s onto us.”

“I don’t want to know,” Dorian eventually gets out, and flops back onto the mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know, man.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [tikaon](http://tikaon.tumblr.com)'s prompt _“I swear it was an accident.”_

“It’s okay,” Bull groans, wincing as he resettles on the log near the healers’ tents, his arm hanging listlessly at his side. “That’s why you’ve got two, right? In case one gets beat to shit.”

Dorian does not agree with Bull’s casual acceptance of the situation. The fact that he’d managed to catch Bull unaware – in his blind spot no less – would normally be cause for celebration and a rowdy night of drinking; a dislocated shoulder is a bit more than either of them bargained for however, when Bull had grinned and tossed Dorian a sword and shield, and told him to think fast.

“It was a good hit too,” Bull continues blithely as the healer, a stout woman Dorian thinks is new, traveled here from Antiva?, prods at his shoulder and hums to herself. “Good use of your environent too.”

Dorian had used a bit of force magic, not a subject that came as easily to him as others, but one that he had nevertheless excelled at once he put his mind to it, and propelled the shield forward once he’d had a good shot – and oh, it had been an incredible rush for a bright moment, Bull letting out a surprised shout and a laugh, before stumbling back and landing awkwardly and. Well.

Dorian’s not sure if it had been the hit, the magic, the fall, or a combination of all three; but Bull’s calm in the face of the injury was and  _is_  infuriating, his gasping laugh when Dorian helped him up and down the stairs towards the healers, his low groan when he’d rolled his head and moved things that simply shouldn’t be.

Frankly, Dorian’s unsure how Bull’s quite so chipper. Dislocated shoulders  _hurt_ , not that Dorian himself has personal experience – but he’s heard Stitches reset enough while out with the Chargers to know Bull shouldn’t be smiling in any way, let alone  _not wailing_.

“Siddown, you’re giving me a crick in my neck,” Bull says, and then nods to the healer when she tells him to inhale and exhale, slowly.

Dorian settles onto the log next to Bull at the same time that the healer and two assistants reset Bull’s shoulder, and Dorian takes Bull’s good hand in his and carefully holds back his grimace just as Bull tries not to squeeze too hard.

“You’ll need to keep it in a sling for several days,” the healer’s saying, Bull nodding at each pause in her lecture, though Dorian’s not sure he’s listening. Dorian knows he isn’t. He’s stuck on the weight of Bull’s hand in his, on the delighted surprise on Bull’s face when Dorian caught him off guard, on how simple it had been to find an opening and exploit it. On how a shoulder dislocates more easily once it already has been once, and the likeliness only increases with each instance.

When next they track down a den of wyverns, Bull surely notices how Dorian stays close to his right side – but they neither of them mention it.


End file.
